


The Call

by yuletide_archivist



Category: British Actor RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by unknown</p><p>After Stephen disappears to Belgium, he has to get in touch with Hugh again somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Call

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ad Baculum

 

 

It took four tries for him to complete dialing the number, and five for him to wait until the phone actually began ringing. After the first ring, he couldn't bring himself to hang up, because he knew how Hugh worried, and a hang-up would either have him believing the worst or dismissing the call as a wrong number.

"Hello?" It was Hugh's voice, solid and real (though wary), and unexpectedly, Stephen had no idea what to say. "Hello?"

"Hello, Hugh?"

"Stephen." It wasn't a question. "Jesus Christ, Stephen, you're alive! Where are you? I can be there in an hour."

"Belgium," Stephen said. Then, trying to make a joke, "It's a bit of a drive."

"That doesn't matter. Do you want me to come?"

"I'm afraid of...I..." Dammit, he hadn't meant to say that, only to think it. "I don't think I'm ready to see you yet."

"All right," Hugh said. "What happened?"

"For pity's sake, Hugh, don't be nice to me. I don't deserve it," Stephen said. He was speaking too quickly; he only did that when he was anxious. Hugh would understand.

"I'm worried what might happen if I'm not nice," Hugh said, his voice blunt but unusually small.

"You mean driving me to desperate measures? Come, come, Hugh. That's too cliched to contemplate, even for me."

There was an awkward silence. "I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I."

"Come home," Hugh said.

"Oh, love," Stephen said, "I'm not sure that would be wise."

"I could help you," Hugh said. "Like you helped me."

Stephen shook his head. "I wouldn't call that help...more unadulterated lust."

"I didn't feel needed and you needed me," Hugh said. "Well, I need you now. Come home."

"I will, soon."

"How soon?"

"When I feel ready to face the multitude, I suppose."

"There doesn't have to be a multitude."

"Dear boy, of course there does. I left in a very public manner; I don't think I have a choice about returning the same way."

"When you come back, will you let me stay with you?"

"Hugh, the danger's passed, really."

"But it might help."

"We might fall into our usual patterns."

"I'm married, Stephen." Hugh sounded faintly patronising and sanctimonious, and it irritated Stephen.

"Oh, come off it, Hugh. We all know you've slipped before and will slip again," he snapped. Then, with sudden panic, "Hugh, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

"Well," Hugh said cynically, "when you fight, you draw blood."

"I'm sorry! Please don't hang up."

"Of course I'm not going to hang up, you twit."

"Good. That's good."

A long, awkward silence.

"You were going to leave me," Hugh said.

Stephen sighed. "Hugh, I wanted to leave myself, not you."

Hugh laughed bitterly. "Oh, be honest, Stephen. I didn't even come to mind."

"No," Stephen admitted softly. "But this isn't about you. I am broken."

"We're both broken, Stephen, but you don't leave your family. If I'm not your family, think of your real family; think of your parents, for fuck's sake! But no, all you thought about was that you were suffering."

"I was suffering," Stephen snapped.

"But your life means something to people other than you!" A pause. "I've been ill about this, literally ill. Newspapers keep phoning and asking the most revolting...do I know if you're the type of person to kill yourself? If you did, how would you do it? How would I feel if you were..." His voice cracked and he stopped for a moment. "And not one word from you, not one bloody word."

"I didn't know," Stephen said, feeling like so much cloacal effluvia. "I never meant to hurt you."

When Hugh spoke again, the anger was gone from his voice. "I know. So much for helping you."

"At least you tell me the truth," Stephen said. "I've never been much good at that."

"You never wanted to be. Your stories were more fun."

"They were," Stephen said. "They are."

Silence.

"Have I said the wrong things to you?" Hugh asked. "I'm sorry, Stephen. My temper..."

"There are no wrong things," Stephen said, speaking around the thickness in his throat. "That you are speaking to me at all is a comfort and a gift."

A pause. "I love you, Stephen."

Someone's tears spilled onto Stephen's cheeks--oh, hullo, they were his--and he fought to keep the heaviness of emotion from his voice. "That is something I haven't heard you say in what feels like a very long time."

"I thought I might not get to tell you," Hugh said.

Stephen swallowed hard. "I love you too."

"Come home soon. I need to see you. I'll be your bulldog if you want. Nobody gets to you unless you want them to."

"You're too kind." 

"I doubt that very much." A pause. "Can you promise me you won't do this alone next time? If you're having a rough go of it, will you--"

"Hugh, you would be bored beyond the point of reason--"

"Never mind what I am. If you are suffering, will you please come to me?"

"I'll try."

"Good. I've missed you."

When Stephen tried to speak, he instead let out some sound between a choke and a sob, so he stopped trying.

"Sorry?" Hugh said.

"A blip in the connection, I'm afraid," Stephen said.

"Oh. Come home so I know you're all right."

"When I see you I will be. Soon, Hugh. I promise."

"All right. Take care of yourself, old chap."

Stephen smiled at Hugh's Wodehouse-ism. "Rather, old thing. Toodle-pip."

"Cheerio." 

Stephen let out a sigh as he hung up the phone, emotionally spent but relieved.

Hugh still wanted him to come home.

THE END

 


End file.
